


everything at once

by reeology



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, M/M, Starfighter AU, eventual Daisuga
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 14:19:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7577359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reeology/pseuds/reeology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's day one of Kuroo's assignment to the Alliance Ship Kepler when he opens the door to his bunk and assumes he's hallucinating. There's a familiar figure on the floor, wearing the white navigator's uniform and sitting with his knees tucked up to his chin. Kuroo is struck almost flat on his back by memories of grass stains and baby teeth and listening to the wind chimes on the front porch as they spat watermelon seeds. Kozume Kenma is both every memory he’s missed and every memory he’s wanted to forget, and now here he is, so close Kuroo could reach out and ruffle his hair like he hasn’t done in over three years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Kuroken Starfighter AU nobody asked for, complete with task names and problematic fighter/pilot relationships. Enabled especially by @reallycorking, @longleggedgit, @caseyvalhalla, @ishmael, and of course my amazing girlfriend Kelly @sasseyama <333
> 
> [Starfighter](http://starfightercomic.com/) is property of @hamletmachine. 
> 
> Title taken from Desire from the Starfighter Eclipse soundtrack because I'm a creative potato who couldn't come up with anything better ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Will be posted in snapshots of days bc reasons.

It's day one of Kuroo's assignment to the Alliance Ship Kepler when he opens the door to his bunk and assumes he's hallucinating. There's a familiar figure on the floor, wearing the white navigator's uniform and sitting with his knees tucked up to his chin. Kuroo is struck almost flat on his back by memories of grass stains and baby teeth and listening to the wind chimes on the front porch as they spat watermelon seeds. Kozume Kenma is both every memory he’s missed and every memory he’s wanted to forget, and now here he is, so close Kuroo could reach out and ruffle his hair like he hasn’t done in over three years.

Kuroo shakes his head, drops his duffel to the floor so he can scrub his eyes, but the picture doesn’t change. Kozume Kenma is hunched over, tinkering with his tablet and swiping through holograms of stars, completely unbothered by his visitor. His hair is bleached, roots peeking out underneath, but it’s unmistakably him. The exaggerated curve of his back and shoulders, the way his bare toes curl repetitively, restlessly against each other, the way he tucks his hair behind his ears and looks at Kuroo with the most piercingly gold eyes.

It’s him.

And Kuroo doesn’t know what to say. He could probably start with something like, "Hi," but that’s too little, he thinks, to make up for years of absence. He wants to run forward and hug him, scoop him up, apologize for leaving him alone to join the Alliance. For not responding to his messages, because training was harder than he’d ever thought, darker than he’d ever thought. He didn't want Kenma to know about the noises in the night, the fistfights in the cafeteria, fighters marking their navigators like property.

And that, that's when that Kuroo's heart stops, and his blood turns to ice, because he realizes that if Kenma’s here, on the Kepler with his own duffel bag taking up half a bunk, his hair bleached standard navigator white, then he must have seen it, he must already know, and god dammit Kuroo fucked up so bad--

"Shut the door already," Kenma interrupts his rapidly derailing train of thought, straightening so he can crack his back with two quick pops, blinking at him wide and innocent. Or maybe that’s just what Kuroo wants to see. Maybe Kenma’s honey eyes are a little less sweet, a little more abrasive than he remembers. Not innocent at all.

"Kenma." He takes a shaky step forward, and the automatic door glides shut behind him. "Are you Kenma?"

"Hi, Kuro," he says instead of answering directly, but it's as good as a yes, at least until he adds: "It's Baast now, actually."

"Oh," Kuroo says.

Kenma switches off the hologram and looks at Kuroo's duffel bag. "I take it your task name is Sekhmet?"

"Yes," he says, still in shock. It's been three years; there's so many questions he wants to ask. Why is he a navigator? Has he been taking care of himself? How long has he been on the Kepler? The way Kenma is studying the readouts says it's not new to him. Is Kuroo not his first fighter?

Does Kenma hate him now for leaving?

But because he's Kuroo, he leans against the wall and tries to read over his shoulder and says, "So, top bunk or bottom bunk?"

"I sleep on the floor," Kenma says, switching the hologram back on, eyes flicking back and forth as he scrolls through incomprehensibly complicated data.

It's as clear a dismissal as Kenma is capable of giving. Kuroo doesn't think he has any right to feel disappointed by this, but his chest apparently didn't get the memo, because it hurts. He wants to press for details, fan out all their feelings like cards on a floor, but he knows from experience that pushing Kenma is literally the worst way to get him to open up about anything. He needs time, and Kuroo owes him that, at least.

So he stuffs his duffel bag under the bottom bunk, suddenly too nauseated to even think about unpacking, and sighs in relief when the digital display by his bed starts flashing and a voice crackles through instructing him to go to physical training.

He thumbs the radio button and says, "Acknowledged," and looks at the curved line of Kenma's back.

"Kenma," he says quietly.

Kenma's shoulders inch up towards his ears and he hunches over so far his hair slips out from where it's tucked behind his ears, hiding his face.

"Baast," he tries, hating the way it sounds.

"Mm?" Kenma says.

He thinks of watermelons and coconut sunscreen and wide-brimmed straw hats, things he hasn't yearned for since the Alliance training literally beat it out of him, things Kenma has stirred to life inside of him.

"It's good to see you," he says, finally. He adjusts his flightsuit where it's sticking to his thighs, because whoever designed these things was either a masochist or really into vinyl, and he's surprised the entire thing doesn't squeak when he walks.

Kenma's fingers pause where they were swiping through stars, but he doesn't respond.

Right.

"Sleeping on the floor is bad for your back," he says, stepping over the cord that's charging Kenma's tablet, and resists the urge to pat him on the head like he used to. He tries grinning, but that feels false, too. "I'll see you tomorrow for compatibility training?"

Kenma nods but doesn't look up. Kuroo palms the button to open the door and focuses on remembering where the fuck the training hall is. Anything but Kenma, really, which is harder than it sounds.

When he drags himself back late that night, sore and bruised and short of breath, Kenma is curled up in a nest of blankets on the floor, the glow of his tablet illuminating his face.  It's a familiar sight, and Kuroo gets as far as plugging it in and gently sliding a pillow underneath Kenma's head before he realizes what he's doing--that maybe Kenma doesn't want him to do this sort of thing anymore--and jerks away, holding his breath until he's sure he didn't accidentally wake him.

He climbs into the top bunk and falls asleep facing the wall.


	2. Chapter 2

It's day two when Kenma snaps a fighter's wrist in the mess hall.

"Hoooly shit," Kuroo says with his spoon halfway to his mouth, dribbling gruel down the front of his shirt. There's a buzz around the room, rippling from Kenma's epicenter as he stares down a gigantic brick wall of muscle and says--something, Kuroo doesn't know, because he can't read lips. But he knows Kenma, so he bets it's brutal. He would feel sorry for the guy if he didn't know Kenma wouldn't go around breaking bones if it wasn't justified.

"Great, they're at it again," says Eros, the only other fighter who seems sane on this entire ship. He has short-cropped hair and serious eyes and exudes an aura of being everyone's dad. He's squinting across the room to where a group of other fighters are gathering, pushing and shoving, always ready for a fight to release some tension. A clump of white surrounds Kenma, but Kuroo can still see the top of his pudding head in the center.

"At what again?" he asks. His leg jiggles underneath the table, eager to go in and help, but after their lukewarm compatibility training this morning, he's not sure Kenma wouldn't snap his wrist. He scoops the gruel off his chest with his finger and licks it off, then immediately regrets it, cringing at the bland taste.

"Some fighters have a grudge against Baast," Eros says. He glances around at their empty table, then ducks his head close and whispers, "I feel sorry for whoever his fighter is. Probably not going to last long."

Kuroo's eyes narrow. "And why is that?"

"His last fighter didn't," Eros says shortly. He looks distracted. "It was suspicious, the way he died. And Baast is, well." He gestures towards Kenma, and they both watch as he deftly sidesteps a punch before picking up one of the heavy metal lunch trays and ramming it into the fighter's solar plexus. Eros cringes, and Kuroo feels a swell of pride, quickly followed by a something gnawing and aching in his stomach as he thinks of where and why Kenma learned how to fight like that.

"Baast is what?" he prompts, subtly pushing away his bowl of thin, porridge-y nastiness. He absently hopes prays he doesn't pass out from hunger during physical training.

There's a metallic ding followed by the thump of a body. They look over and see Kenma sigh, puffing a piece of hair off his forehead, and stepping over a fighter who has apparently dropped sideways like a top-heavy toddler after Kenma hurled the tray at his temple.

Eros points to the now three unconscious bodies at Kenma's feet. "Kinda not the easiest guy to get along with, you know?"

"He's a nice guy," Kuroo defends him immediately. "He's just shy."

Eros goes very still. "What did you say your task name was?"

"Sekhmet," he says.

"Sekhmet," Eros repeats. He covers his face with both broad hands and sighs so hard his shoulders heave, and Kuroo suddenly gets chills. The ominous kind. "Shit. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said--"

Kuroo waves him off. "It's fine. I don't think Baast would hurt me."

"Neither did the old Sekhmet," Eros mutters. Then his eyes change, and his shoulders bunch and tighten under the skin-tight fabric of his shirt, and he's half-off his chair. Kuroo twists around to some navigator with an impressive cowlick and a gentle smile is pushing Kenma toward the exit.

"That one yours?" Kuroo guesses, smirking.

"Yeah," Eros says, then seems to realize what he said and blushes. "That's Psyche, I mean."

"You worried Baast is gonna push him out the airlock?" Kuroo asks.

"No." Despite his words, Eros is still half-hovering over his chair, looking like he wants to follow but isn't sure if it's his place.

"I'll go check on them," Kuroo says, pushing himself to his feet. He wasn't going to eat his gruel, anyway, and he really doesn't want to be in here when a commanding officer walks in and chews them all out for starting stupid fucking fights. After dumping the not-even-half-eaten bowl on the conveyor belt that whisks it away into an unknown kitchen area, he sticks his hands in his pockets and slips out the door he saw Psyche and Kenma go through.

The hallway is empty. He can still hear the sound of the fight continuing, even without Kenma there. He ducks his head and walks further.

"Baast?" he calls.

No reply. His palms start to sweat.

_ If I were Kenma _ , he thinks, standing in front of a 4-way split. One hallway leads towards the training area. One towards the hangar. One towards the dormitories.

Kuroo can think of a reason why Kenma would go down any of those, really. Hit up the sparring arena with Psyche to let out whatever pent-up frustration is lingering around. Go to the hangar to lose himself in schematics and repairs.

But Kuroo's gut says the dormitories, because he remembers far too many nights of finding Kenma curled up with his blanket pulled over his head like a hood, a gaming console in his hands and his headphones in. His first instinct when he's upset is to be somewhere safe, and that's always been his bedroom, wherever he can build a nest of familiar, comfortable things and unwind.

Kenma has changed a lot, but Kuroo is betting that this has stayed the same.

So he picks the dormitory hallway and breaks into a light jog. He doesn't realize how badly he was second-guessing himself (or how much he wanted to be right and prove that he still knew Kenma, even a little, after being separated) until he hears the low conversation behind their door. Given what Eros just told him about people holding grudges, he should be maybe a little concerned that Kenma is alone with someone, but he trusts Psyche for inexplicable reasons that have a lot to do with how angelic he looks when he smiles.

He raises his hand to scan in, then stops, thinks better of it, and knocks instead.

A thump. The conversation stops.

"Baast?" he says, rapping his knuckles against the metal again. "It's me."

"Sekhmet?" Kenma's voice says. (Kuroo used to think that voice was so tiny, but it's stronger now, steely and hoarse.)

"Yeah. Is it okay if I come in?"

The door slides open before Kuroo can even finish asking, and Kenma is there, framed by the light behind him, shrugging and scratching the back of one leg with his foot. He's holding his tablet loosely in one hand, schematics of their new ship already pulled up and zoomed in on the engine. "You don't have to ask. It's your room."

"I thought maybe you wanted some privacy," Kuroo says, his eyes cutting to Psyche, who is staring at Kenma with his arms crossed and his lips pursed like he has something to say but is really trying to hold it in.

"There's no such thing as privacy here."

"Just being polite," he says.

Kenma turns and plops on the floor, chin on his knees, poking at his tablet. "I don't need anybody to be polite to me. You can go now, Psyche."

Psyche opens his mouth and pauses. He looks at Kuroo from the corner of his eye.

_ I might have been wrong to trust this one _ , Kuroo thinks, smiling encouragingly, projecting a vibe of devotion and honor or whatever Psyche needs before he'll leave.

"I don't trust this guy." Psyche points at him.

"What?" Kuroo wilts.

"I don't want to leave you alone after what just happened." He looks pointedly at Kuroo. "He's a fighter, and you don't know him yet."

"He's fine. I told you, you can leave."

"Yeah, he wants you to leave," Kuroo says. If he adjusts the words somewhat to suit his own liking then, well, fucking sue him.

He kind of expects Kenma to call him out on it, but he just huffs, pushes his hair off his forehead and hunches over the glow of words on the screen.

"Fine. I'll see you tomorrow, Baast." Psyche stoops a little to squeeze Kenma's shoulder, and the way his neck extends, Kuroo can see a bite mark and bright red patches all along the cord of muscle down the side.

So maybe Eros is a little more like the other fighters than Kuroo thought.

"Give my regards to Eros," Kuroo says as Psyche leaves, and relishes the surprised face for the five seconds it takes for the doors to close on him. As soon as he hears Psyche's footsteps receding down the empty hall, Kuroo releases the breath he's been holding and flops backwards onto the bottom bunk, bouncing twice. "That guy is trouble. He's looks sweet and innocent, but you can tell he's a real demon on the inside."

"Psyche is nice," Kenma says quietly. He peeks at Kuroo over the top of his screen and frowns. "You don't have to stay here either, you know."

It's like being punched in the gut. Kuroo tells himself not to take it personally, even though it's really really hard not to, and tries to force himself to grin. It doesn't work very well. Fails spectacularly, in fact.

"Kenma. Do you want me to leave?" He's never been good at forcing Kenma to do things he really, really doesn't want to. Even when they were young and Kuroo was dragging him to sports club and making him catch bugs in nets outside, he only did it because he saw that it ignited a spark deep inside him, that it was something Kenma enjoyed even if he couldn't admit it.

Kenma shrugs. "You're supposed to call me Baast."

Kuroo shifts, propping himself up on his elbows, and squints at Kenma through his bangs. "Do you want me to call you Baast?"

Another shrug.

"Do you want to talk about--"

"No," Kenma interrupts before Kuroo can specify. Kuroo breathes out sharply through his nose, relieved he doesn't have to figure that out just yet. He isn't sure what he was going to say, anyway.

"Okay, sure," he says, and drops onto the floor next to him, peering at his screen over his shoulder. He wants to scoot forward until Kenma is in his lap, his chin on Kenma's shoulder, arms wrapped loose around that tiny waist, but those things mean something different between a fighter and a navigator on the Kepler. So even if Kuroo wants to protect him now, he has to remember they're not just childhood friends anymore, and there are--boundaries, or whatever. Lines he can't cross anymore.

"What are you doing?" Kenma asks.

"Compatibility training," he says, because being an ass is a line he's incapable of not crossing. He grins at Kenma's sour-faced pout. "I'm studying the ship schematics with you. Is that okay?"

Kenma shrugs, but Kuroo thinks he looks maybe a little less frosty. "It's fine. You have your own tablet, you know."

"I know," Kuroo says. He doesn't move. His face is pointed toward the tablet, but he's scanning Kenma's knuckles for blood or swelling, the lines of his face for a scratch or a hair out of place. He's remarkably unscathed for somebody who just threw down with half the fighters on the ship.

"Fine," Kenma says--sighs, more like.

Kuroo thinks Kenma leans toward him slightly, but it might just be his imagination.

It makes him happy anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make it obvious, but Eros is Daichi and Psyche is Suga.

**Author's Note:**

> REMEMBER THAT ONE TIME @reallycorking DREW [KUROO AND KENMA IN THEIR FLIGHTSUITS](http://reallycorking.tumblr.com/post/147924456229/reeology-is-writing-a-kuroken-starfighter-au-here)? BECAUSE, UM, I DO. THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! ///// (plz click the link for full size + rebloggable!!)
> 
>   
>    
> 


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